


There are some things you just don’t mess with Sherlock.

by DrWholocked (Samilu)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Don't get between John Watson and his tea, Gen, Or what counts for domestic fluff between these two morons, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sherlock Holmes and Experiments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2019-09-07 18:41:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16859302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samilu/pseuds/DrWholocked
Summary: Written for the prompt bycumber-denmother:Role-reversal: John is grumpy, Sherlock COOKS him breakfast, WTF-ery ensues.Ok here’s my first attempt at answering a prompt. I didn’t actually manage any WTF-ery :(





	There are some things you just don’t mess with Sherlock.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cumber-denmother](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=cumber-denmother).



> Migrating this from Tumblr because... well, we all know why.

John groans and rolls out of bed at 6am. He hasn’t slept well and he can think of nothing he wants to do less than get up. Unfortunately, lying in bed wishing he was asleep wasn’t going to make it happen.

Throwing on a t-shirt and sweat pants, John makes his stumbling way downstairs, thinking of a nice hot cuppa and maybe some toast. With jam. Yes, definitely jam.

Half awake, he blearily approaches the kettle. He stops, blinks and looks again. No, there is definitely no kettle there. Confused, he looks around the rest of the kitchen. Flasks, beakers, a desiccator and various other scientific paraphernalia are scattered seemingly haphazardly, but apparently very specifically, all over the kitchen table. There is no kettle there, though.

The opposite bench has the microwave and the… No toaster either. Also no kettle. A quick scan of the rest of the benches reveals neither kettle nor toaster.

He shouts in the general direction of Sherlock’s bedroom, “Sherlock!” And just to cover all bases he repeats it in the direction of the sitting room. “SHERLOCK!!”

Sherlock comes skidding into the kitchen from his bedroom, his robe dragging off one shoulder and only one sock on his foot. “What? What is it? What’s wrong?” His eyes frantically scan John and the kitchen for danger or harm and finding nothing, he draws himself up, fixes his robe and glares at John.

“What are you shouting about, John?” Sherlock asks in the most patronising manner possible.

John takes slow, deliberate steps towards Sherlock, punctuating each with a word. “Where… is… the…. kettle?” he grates.

A brief flash of something unidentified crosses Sherlock’s face before he smooths his features into their default neutral-but-haughty expression. “It broke,” he replies, short and sharp.

“It broke.” John repeats. “And the toaster?” That flash crosses Sherlock’s face again and John frowns.

“Sherlock. What happened to the kettle and the toaster?”

Sherlock huffs and storms into the sitting room in his usual melodramatic fashion. “I used them in an experiment. They broke,” he says as he throws himself onto the sofa.

John turns on one heel and marches into the sitting room to stand beside the sofa. Sherlock has his back to the room, so he reaches down, grabs Sherlock’s shoulder and forcibly rolls him over. If he wasn’t so furious, he’d be amused by the indignant squawk that Sherlock makes.

“Sherlock… I am going to sit in my armchair and read the paper. By the time I finish the paper, you will have resolved the fact that I cannot make my morning tea nor have my breakfast. I don’t care how you do it, just fix it!”

In other circumstances, such a command may have had no effect. However, Sherlock is lying prone on the sofa and John is towering over him, for a change, and very very angry. Sherlock swallows and nods. John removes his hand from Sherlock’s shoulder, picks up the paper and makes his way to his armchair. He hears Sherlock get up and go into his bedroom. A few minutes later, Sherlock dashes down the stairs and the front door slams.

By the time John’s reached the sports section, he hears Sherlock return and start rummaging around in the kitchen. John refuses to look to see what solution he’s come up with and continues to read. Five minutes later, a plate with toast (and his favourite jam) and a cup of tea (made exactly the way he likes it) are placed on the table beside his chair. He looks up as Sherlock throws himself into his own armchair, a cup of tea in hand.

John takes a sip of his tea and looks over at Sherlock, who is trying very hard not to seem interested.

“Right. Let’s just sort this out right now,” John says, calmly enunciating each word, “There are some things you just don’t mess with Sherlock. You don’t enter the bathroom if I’m in there, you don’t use my toothbrush and you most definitely do not get between me and my morning cup of tea. Do you think you can handle that from now on?”

Sherlock takes a sip of his own tea, attempting to appear nonchalant and fooling no-one, not even the skull. “Of course, John,” he replies, haughtily, “I will ensure the kettle is available for your use in the mornings in future.”

John nods and takes another sip of tea.


End file.
